Superficial
by Coolyboopboop
Summary: Although he really couldn't be bothered much about the winnings. What really interested him was the challenge. Oh, it was definitely something he could handle, Oliver was sure of this, but it would be nice to see them try.


_In a tiny, little room far, far back, a boy stays._

_By the window he sits, watching and waiting. Waiting and watching._

_How long has he been here? He does not know._

_When will he leave? This was also a mystery._

_When will it be time? He still does not know._

_And at this point, he really doesn't care._

_So, the boy sits by the window, watching and waiting. Waiting and watching._

* * *

"Stop it mother, really." Despite his complaints, the woman continues. She's never been one for taking orders and Oliver really doubts she ever will be. With a familiar determination in her eyes, the woman looks him over: his shirt has been cleanly pressed, his hair neatly combed- even the most stubborn ones, and she'd even taken the time to apply the slightest hint of makeup on his face. There was not a blemish to be found on him. Everything was in order. Everything was perfect.

Oliver is tired of it.

He pushes her doting hands away. With his one good eye, he looks up at her. "I will be fine." It's both a statement and a promise. An assertion, too. Oliver knows he's won before they've even arrived. He's seen the others. Seen their pitiful looks and their pitiful efforts. They didn't understand how futile it all was. Did not see how they wasted their time. They were not born with it. He was.

He had the talent. He had the advantage. He would win.

It was really only a matter of time.

"I can't help it!" His mother squeals. Oliver's amused to see she's far more excited than he. "This is like a once in a lifetime chance- and for you to have the opportunity!" She grasps his hands excitedly. "Imagine if you win! Imagine what would come with it!"

"Yes, I suppose that would be nice." Although he couldn't be bothered much about the winnings. It was all superficial. What really interested him was the challenge. Oh, it was definitely something he could handle, Oliver was sure of this. But it would be nice to see them try. To eventually see them grovel at his feet. Yes, it would be nice.

"Nice?" She echoes, and for a second, Oliver was almost afraid she'd heard his previous thoughts. "Oh, it'd be wonderful!" She sighs and wipes an exaggerated tear away. "How I wish your father could see this!"

"I'm sure he'd be pleased." Was his automatic reply.

"Oh, yes! He would-"

"Excuse me," A man cuts in, his voice deep and cold. "Are you Oliver?" Black. Everything about the man is black: his suit, his tie, his hair, his sunglasses— everything. Oliver can tell his mother is intimidated by the man's stature. She flushes and stutters and avoids eye contact; something he knows is not the norm for a motor-mouth like her. However, Oliver feels no fear. There is no need to. This man was only a drone. A folly.

"Yes," He says coolly. "That would be me."

"Then I'm sure you are aware of the next procedures." The man gestures to the door with his large hand. On the hand, Oliver sees a scar trail down the expanse of it before becoming obscured by the sleeve of his jacket. Curiosity piques him, but Oliver knows better than to express it.

"I am aware." Oliver walks to the man's side, not looking back at his mother. "I will be going mother."

"Good luck!" She coos, her voice is filled with excitement and pride. "Don't you ever forget that mama loves you!"

"Love you too." Oliver nods to her as he speaks his only admission of affection. He finds it childish and doesn't delve into saying it often, but he makes an exception this time. She does not know this will be the last time she will see him. Does not know what he's planning to do. It's for the best, he decides. He didn't need to add anything else onto his worries. He already has enough. And so, he moves forward.

The door shuts behind him. As he takes in the new sight, a grin, lopsided and crooked, makes it's way onto his face.

This was it.

He finally made it.

* * *

**AN:** _Is this okay? I mean I've seen people use author's notes before, but I' not sure if I'm doing this right._

So.

As of Monday, I've acquired a new writing style. And that means I've got to flex it. I need ta work it. I gotta _gotta_ get into the mojoooo. So I've been writing some mini fics everyday for the past week.

And this was the only one worth posting.

But that's okay. It's all good. I'm totes chill with it. Cause that just means I've ton of room to improve, right? _Right?_

Anyways, I give _ALL!_ the props to the fanfiction writers out there! They're able to pop out stuff like _bam! _And I'm embarrassed to post just this. Maybe I'll take it down. Ubububu. I just really wanted to write a fanfic on my bro Oliver. But then he came out so cynical and scheming! You were supposed to be_ cuuuute! _What happened?

Oh, well. I had fun so it doesn't matter. Hate it? Love it? Somewhere in the middle? Feedback would be nice. I mean, you don't have to, but it would be greatly appreciated. But it's okay if you don't.

_It's not like I want you to or anything…_


End file.
